“The fighter! My husband is rooting for him.” She laughs, stepping back and adjusting the diaper bag before it can complete its slow escape down her arm. “He watches all the UFC stuff. That’s so cool that you’re writing about it.”
“Thanks, Jess.” I reach out and let the toddler grab my finger, which he immediately tries to shove in his mouth. “And look at this guy! Jess, he’s adorable. You look amazing, by the way.”
“Oh, stop.” She’s glowing though, the way people do when they’re complimented. “This little one is Caleb, but I’m here picking up my oldest from soccer practice. Can you believe it? I have a kid old enough for soccer practice where we went to school.”
“That’s wild,” I say. The idea of having a kid old enough for school sports seems impossibly adult, like something that happens to other people in some parallel timeline I can’t quite access. “I was just going down memory lane being back here. Strange how much things change.”
“It really is. Sometimes I walk through these halls and I feel like I’m seventeen again, except now I’m on the other side of the parent-teacher conferences.” She tilts her head. “So what about you? Are you still in Seattle, or did you move? I feel like I heard something about New York?”
“New York,” I confirm. “Almost fifteen years now. I work forThe Sporting Standard.”
“That’s so exciting! I’ve always wanted to visit.” Her eyes go a little dreamy for a second. “So are you married? Kids? What’s the whole Brooke Bennett life update?”
The question everyone asks, delivered with the same cheerful assumption that of course there must be someone, of course there must be a ring and a spouse and maybe a couple of photogenic children to round out the picture.
I can tell that Jessica doesn’t mean anything malicious by it. It’s just the script people follow when they run into someone they haven’t seen in two decades. What do you do? Where do you live? Are you married? The standard metrics by which we measure whether someone’s life has turned out okay.
“No marriage, no kids,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Just me and my career.”
“Oh, well good for you! Honestly, sometimes I’m jealous of that kind of freedom.” She laughs, bouncing Caleb higher on her hip. “But you’ve still got time if you want all that. You look amazing, by the way. We should catch up over coffee while you’re in town!”
“Thanks, Jess. And I’d like that,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that I actually mean it. Jessica was always kind. Theyou’ve still got timestings a little, the way it does when people can’t imagine your life is complete without what theirs has, but there’s nothing behind it except warmth.
She waves and heads back toward the school entrance, the toddler already squirming in her arms and demanding to be put down. I watch her go for a second before turning back toward my car.
Are you married?
It’s the fourth time I’ve been asked since coming home. Mostly well-intentioned, mostly harmless, and I handle it finebecause I save my irritation for the assholes who ask it like they’ve just discovered a crack in an otherwise impressive résumé. Jessica isn’t one of those.
But walking back to the car, the question turns over in my mind, and my answer turns with it. Just me and my career. It’s true, and it’s the version I always give. The part I leave out is messier. I love my life and I love my apartment and my routine and the fact that every square inch of my existence is exactly the way I want it.
But sometimes I come home after a fourteen-hour day with a story I’m dying to tell and there’s no one to tell it to. Sometimes I want someone on the other end of the couch arguing with me about whether that was a bad call during playoff games.
I unlock my rental car and slide into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. Leaving behind the building where I spent four years being absolutely certain I knew exactly what I wanted from life.
The main road opens up ahead of me, and as I roll to a stop at the red light my eyes drift to the corner. The diner hasn’t changed since I was seventeen, same neon sign, same faded awning. Half the kids at Dark River High used to pile into those booths after school. I had my first kiss in the back corner one, Tyler Briggs, sophomore year. Terrible kisser.
A month later Dominic put a guy on the pavement outside that same diner because the guy called me a stuck-up bitch for rejecting him at a party. Nobody connected those dots except me. As far as the rest of Dark River knew, Dominic Midnight just picked a random fight, and I just happened to be there when it went down.
I change the radio station like that’ll help. I need to stop doing this. Every corner I turn in this town has him attached to it and I refuse to spend my entire assignment sifting throughtwenty-five-year-old memories of a man who can barely look at me now.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. I glance down to see Dara’s name on the screen and hit answer, putting it on speaker, grateful for the interruption.
“Perfect timing,” I say. “I just spent an hour in my old high school and I need a palate cleanser since I’m spiraling into uncomfortable self-reflection. Distract me please.”
“Owens got fired.” Dara’s voice is rich with satisfaction, and I can picture her leaning back in her desk chair, coffee in hand, savoring every word. “HR escorted him out this morning. Apparently Legal decided they’d rather cut him loose than deal with the liability.”
“Finally.” I slow for a stop sign. “That man has had it coming for years. What else is happening? Give me all the gossip. I want to hear about people’s bad decisions that aren’t mine.”
“Let’s see.” I hear her take a sip of something, probably her third coffee of the day. “Jensen is allegedly sleeping with someone in accounting, though no one can confirmwhichsomeone. The vending machine on four is broken again and people are treating it like a national tragedy. That’s it. It’s been exceedingly dull without you here.”
“Well I wish you were here.” I turn past the movie theater that’s now a pizza place. “I could use your particular brand of no-bullshit perspective.”
“That’s a given.” I can hear her smile. “So how’s it going out there? Have you made anyone cry yet?”
“No, but the day is young.”
“That bad over there?”
